“All right, then,” said the robot, stepping up to the ball and waggling the driving iron. “Now I’ll show you how the goddamn game’s supposed to be played!”
There was something really wrong with that remark, thought Armstrong. But before he could place it, the robot had taken a mighty swing. The bystanders heard the distinctive ping of a ball caught precisely in the sweet spot of the club head. It took off straight as a laser beam down the middle of the fairway. When it finally came to rest, it was in the center of the green-some seventy yards past Armstrong’s tee shot.
“Wow, some shot,” said Brick. “Ain’t nothin‘ wrong with you, Captain.”
“A fine shot indeed,” said the general. “However, he does lie two. If our short game’s up to scratch, we’ve still got a fair chance to win the hole, eh, Lieutenant Armstrong?”
“I don’t plan to concede the hole, General,” said Armstrong, remembering whose partner he was supposed to be. He grabbed a short iron from his bag and the foursome set off down the course.
Armstrong was still trying to figure out what had bothered him when they got to the green and it became obvious to everyone-except perhaps the general-that something had gone seriously hay wire.
Phule’s instincts all told him something was wrong-very wrong. He found an empty bench in the garden of La Re-traite Rustique, sat down, and began trying to piece together what was bothering him.
First of all, he knew that Beeker and Nightingale were on the planet, probably even in the close neighborhood. He even had a pretty good idea what they were here for- unlike Cut ‘N’ Shoot, where he hadn’t learned about the main tourist attraction until the last day of his visit. He still didn’t have any idea what had possessed them to spend any of their vacation days on Rot’n‘art, one of the least interesting places he’d ever visited.
Here, at least, the Floribunda Festival was clearly the magnet drawing tourists from around the galaxy, although he couldn’t quite picture Beeker getting excited about flowers. Maybe Nightingale was the flower fancier. It didn’t seem like her, but how well did he know her, anyway?
But even knowing why they’d come to Hix’s World, he hadn’t managed to find them-not counting the one glimpse he’d gotten of Nightingale from his hotel window. Was it just bad luck, or was something else going on?
That brought him to the question of who’d been asking about him in the hotel. One way to figure out who was following him might be to let them catch up… but then, they might just turn out to be somebody he really was much better off not letting catch him. It was silly to pretend that he didn’t have enemies. He could think of several people who thought they had some reason or another to stick their noses into his business-some of them even had pretty legitimate reasons, if you granted their particular point of view.
Most likely, the people looking for him were just local newstapers who’d learned he was on-planet and wanted an interview. Not that he was going to give one and reveal his location to various people who would use the information for their advantage. General Blitzkrieg, for one, would consider Phule’s being away from his company’s base nothing short of a capital offense. Or whoever was currently in charge of the Lorelei crime syndicate might see this as an opportunity to eliminate their main competitor in the casino business. At least, Phule’s hotel had turned away the mysterious visitors… if only for the time being.
Phule stood up and stretched his muscles. In the absence of any real danger signs, his best bet was to go about his business, keeping an eye open for any suspicious characters in the vicinity. Considering that he was already keeping an eye open for Beeker, and one open for Nightingale, that was going to be a strain on his eyesight. But he’d cope. He always had.
Suspicious characters or not, it was important to keep his priorities straight. His main business was still finding Beeker, and that meant figuring out where the butler was likely to be the next day or so-after that, the Floribunda Festival was over, and most of the tourists would be leaving Hix’s World. Beeker and Nightingale would probably be among them. Chasing them to still another backwater planet was not Phule’s idea of fun, but neither was going into an induced catatonic state, which was what would probably happen if he gave up the chase. If he could just get Beeker’s Port-a-Brain, the entire problem would be solved. He could return to Zenobia, the butler and medic could continue to enjoy their vacation, and that would be that.
He reached in his pocket and brought out the Festival schedule he’d gotten in his tourist information packet at the spaceport. This afternoon’s big attraction was a “floral ballet,” whatever that was, in the Festival Pavilion. A map showed the Pavilion at the edge of town, not far from La Retraite Rustique. He didn’t know for certain that Beeker would be there, but if the butler had come all this way for the Floribunda Festival, it was just a good bet he-or Nightingale-would want to see the floral ballet, as well.
Phule double-checked the map, returned it to his pocket, and set off in the direction of the Pavilion. It was a long shot, but at the moment it was still the best shot he had.
Do-Wop and Sushi sat on the ground, in the shade of a hedge a short distance from the entrance to La Retraite Rustique. Their bicycle was propped up next to them. The day had turned hot, and they both felt a certain dissatisfaction that their mission remained unfinished. Even Do-Wop, a firm believer that “If at first you don’t succeed, it’s a good time to quit,” was trying to find alternative strategies.
“What we need to do is sneak back in the joint,” said Do-Wop. “Then we can figure out what room the captain’s in and put a message under the door.”
Sushi shrugged. “It could work,” he said. “That concierge, Robert, could cause a lot of trouble, though. How do we know when he’s going to be away without sticking our faces in?”
“Uglypuss Robert has to eat some time,” said Do-Wop. “My cousin Louise, she useta be a waitress, told me the staff always eats before they start serving the customers. I bet that’s when this guy eats, too-before the dining room opens for lunch.”
Sushi checked the time. “If you’re right, that’d be in maybe half an hour. But there’ll be somebody covering for him-you can bet he’s going to warn them about us. What are we going to do about that?”
Do-Wop grinned and pointed a finger at Sushi. “We go in disguise!” he said.
Sushi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. It’d be really triff if we had a whole kit full of different costumes, and fake beards, and all the other stuff. Except we don’t. Tell me when you come up with a real idea.”
“No, Soosh, this’ll work,” said Do-Wop. “Like, if we sneak in the employees’ entrance while everybody’s eatin‘, we can pop into the locker room and snag ourselves some hotel uniforms-janitor’s coveralls or maybe a bellhop jacket. Then we just zip right into the main part of the hotel without anybody battin’ an eyeball. You got the right uniform, you can go anyplace you want.”
“How do you know they have a locker room?” said Sushi. “This isn’t that big a place, you know…”
“If that happens, we go straight to Plan B,” said Do-Wop, nonchalantly.
“Which is?”
“Run like hell and try to think of somethin‘ else,” said Do-Wop, with a wink. “C’mon, Soosh, have a little faith in your buddy.”
“I guess I don’t have any better ideas,” said Sushi. “Besides which, if this goes sour, I can outrun you. When the bad guys catch you, they’ll probably forget about me.” He stood up. “We might as well go try it.”